"Kiametia Grey frightened us all last night by fainting …"
"Fainting! Kiametia? I thought she was as tough as a horse?"
"So she is usually, but she has been doing too much socially, and late hours do not agree with a woman of her years."
"She isn't so old," protested Whitney.
"She is older than I, and I'm not so young," Mrs. Whitney, whose years sat lightly upon her, jerked a dainty dressing-gown about her shoulders. "Kiametia did faint and when she came to, declared it was the overheated atmosphere of the rooms and the continuous talking which had upset her."
"Well, you must admit, Minna, the Sisters are famous for noisy discussions. Kiametia is generally able to hold up her end of an argument. I am sorry she had to give in to superior numbers," Whitney laughed. "You'll never convince me that she fainted."
"She did, too; and felt so badly that I persuaded her not to go home, but to spend the remainder of the night in our blue bedroom."
"Good heavens!" Whitney gazed blankly at his wife. "Did she—did …"
"No, she did not stay there," pausing dramatically. "She found Sinclair Spencer sound asleep in the bed." She waited expectantly for her husband's comment, but getting no reply, she burst out, "What was he doing there—how came he to be there?"
"I was foolish enough to offer him whiskey." Her husband seated himself carefully on the edge of the bed, "Spencer had been drinking before he came to see me, and a very little more made him tipsy. I was fearful that if I took him downstairs he would try and break up your meeting, so persuaded him to go and lie down on the bed in the blue room."